


Going Ghost

by sirensails



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, Paranormal, Romance, Slow Burn- sorta, all that good stuff, but lance is oblivious ofc, danny phantom au....kinda?, he can sense lance in his ghost form, hunk is freaked out, it gets dark every now and then, keith has a big ole crush, keith hunts ghosts but the old fashioned way, like lance can turn into a ghost to fight ghosts, lol idk what to tag tbh, pidge has gadgets, plus he's too busy, stopping deaths and hauntings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-04-05 14:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14046414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirensails/pseuds/sirensails
Summary: "Lance is dead.Like literally, completely dead.Well, at least for now.If someone would have told him that he'd be spending his college years fighting ghosts and demonic entities, he'd have looked at them as if they had multiple heads. Sure, he liked paranormal shit as much as the next guy. He enjoyed watching scary movies with his best friend and blaming all bumps in the night on some restless spirit. Hell, he'd even downloaded a ghost app on his phone several years ago and never took it off, the likes of which swore he'd catch something in the recordings.He just never thought he'd end upbeingthe ghost. "*AKA: Lance can turn into a ghost and he's used to fighting them off, effectively protecting the students at his college and in his town. That is, until a string of murders links to paranormal activity. Now, he has to hunt down the entities and stop them before they can kill again. He thinks it could be easy, if only their next target didn't seem so personal.*





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Lance is dead.

  
Like literally, _completely_ dead.

  
Well, at least for now.

  
If someone would have told him that he'd be spending his college years fighting ghosts and demonic entities, he'd have looked at them as if they had multiple heads. Sure, he liked paranormal shit as much as the next guy. He enjoyed watching scary movies with his best friend and blaming all bumps in the night on some restless spirit. Hell, he'd even downloaded a ghost app on his phone several years ago and never took it off, the likes of which swore he'd catch _something_ in the recordings.

  
He just never thought he'd end up _being_ the ghost.

  
"Ow!" He shouts, "Ow, ow, ow! What the fuck!"

  
Yeah, he'd been surprised that he could still feel pain too.

  
"You really thought," Lance shoots forward and knocks the entity to the ground, "that it'd be cool to body slam me? Seriously?"

  
The entity growls up at him, their mouth a gaping hole of teeth and general abyss. Lance scowls and straddles it, throwing punch after punch until something akin to goo flies into the air.

  
God, he hates the plasma.

  
If the creature would've just jumped into his dimensional compacter, it never would've escalated this far. He tries to retrace his steps, to find the mistake.

  
"Was it something I said?" Lance questions, stopping his assault to gauge the entities response, "Do I smell bad? You think the compactor's too cramped or-"

  
He's thrown off.

  
Again.

  
The entity crawls forward and what was once an eerie sight now simply makes Lance roll his eyes. He stands and shakes out his hands, feeling more than seeing the neon blue sparks fly from his fingertips.

  
"Now you're just pissing me off." He mumbles, rolling his neck in a slow rotation.

  
One.

  
He bends and shifts, readying his feet.

  
Two.

  
His eyes begin to glow, matching the electric crackles filling the air.

  
Three.

  
The entity has no time to escape. Lance slams his fists into it's face, the shock sending it into compulsions. He wraps one hand around its throat and opens his compactor with the other, the high pitched whir similar to chalk on a blackboard.

  
"Okay." He brings it forward, "In you go."

  
The entity explodes.

  
Lance shouts and throws himself off, taking to the air as buckets of plasma and goop fall on his head. He hovers, eyes wide as it trails through his hair and onto his face, trickling like sludge after a heavy downpour.

  
So much for a clean capture. Now, instead of the entity entering his compactor and finding its way back to its own realm, it's gone. 

 

Non-existent. 

 

Kinda sad, if Lance were being honest.

  
His feet find the floor softly and the moment they touch, he's transforming. His suit disappears in a flash of blue, boots change back to converse, the initial on his chest morphs back to his simple gray shirt.

  
Just like that, after the threat is dealt with, he's back to normal.

  
Completely, utterly normal.

  
Other than the, you know, ghost guts.

  
With a groan, he throws his head back and stares at the compartment store's ceiling. The cameras had been cut the moment the entity came through, effectively stealing energy and electricity, all to build up its own momentum.

But Lance never gets that boost. That shot of adrenaline, stolen from technology and living bodies. Instead, he just feels exhausted.

  
He glances at the watch on his wrist: _3:28AM_.

  
Cursing, he trails a hand through his hair and flicks his wrist, trying and failing to get rid of some of the goop. In the living world, it's not electric green or purple or yellow.

  
It's just red.

  
Lance makes his way to the front of the store with a scowl. So much for a night off, for sleep and getting to class early for once.

  
He grabs a bag of chips and throws a few dollars onto the register, hunger approaching in the place of sleep. He climbs out of the busted window and walks toward the parking lot, the crunch of broken glass loud in the depth of night.

  
There's not a soul awake.

  
Not a soul, other than him.

 

***~*~*~***

 

"Dude." Hunk leans close and waves a hand across Lance's eyes, "Are you dead?"

  
The words shock Lance out of his stupor and the cafeteria returns in a blare of noise. Wafts of cheap breakfast sausage has his stomach gurgling but the thought of actually eating makes him cringe. It'd taken him two hours to scrub away every stain on his skin, the plasma harder to get rid of than ketchup on a white t-shirt.

  
He thanks whatever god is up there that his roommate is never, _ever_ home at night.

  
"Nah." Lance yawns, "Just didn't sleep good last night."

  
"Let me guess." Hunk pops a piece of dry cereal into his mouth, "You stayed up all night playing Killbot Phantasm 1."

  
"Is it that obvious?"

  
Hunk barks a laugh, "That game's gonna drive you crazy, you know."

  
Lance shrugs.

  
Lying to his best friend used to be hard. The moment he'd transformed for the first time all he wanted to do was run to Hunk. Out of anyone, Lance was sure that he could figure it out, using logic and reason to calm both of their shock.

  
But when the first entity appeared, seemingly harmless considering it was a kid before it warped into something monstrous, Lance knew that to tell Hunk would be to risk alerting his parents. Parents who, for better or worse, turned him into this.

  
Whatever this was.

 

"Well, try not to pass out in Calculus today. Finals are coming up and you know how your professor gets. He'll fail you just to make himself laugh."

  
Lance lays his head on the table, a grimace falling onto his face right after. But for now he doesn't care about the germs. About the dirt getting into his pores or the mushed gum no doubt hanging on the other side. Hunk laughs again and slaps a large hand onto his back, the only form of consolation Lance will get until the end of the day. Most students begin to filter out for their morning classes, laughter and the shuffling of bags already distant and hazy in his ears. As if he were under water, floating away from things like homework and finals and impending winter break.

  
For the first time in a long while he thinks about how he ended up like this.

  
How, if he were anyone else, they probably wouldn't have gone into the stupid basement.

  
But Lance is Lance.

  
And he went anyway.

 

 

***~*~*~***

 

**_Two Years Ago_ **

 

 

College.

  
Lance repeats the word in his head, over and over until it doesn't feel like it'll disappear anymore. For as much bravado as Lance likes to give himself about being the the star of Bellview High, he's almost positive nobody wants to get out of here quicker than him.

  
Graduation has come and gone, taking with it the excitement of escaping halls that smell like farts and stale markers, only for a new excitement to fill its place.

  
Well, excitement and dread.

  
Because Lance is nervous. So nervous, it borders on being down right scared as shit. Even if he is going with his best friend, he scowls at the reminder that he won't even get to room with him. Hunk had applied early and got in without a hitch, scoring one of the best dorms on campus.

  
Lance scrolls through pictures of his own dorm that he'd found on the Garrison's website, the walls boring beige cinder block and looking about the size of his closet. Two beds sit on either side of the room, separated by a lone mini fridge.

  
He groans again and lays back on his bed, blue eyes staring at the glow stars he'd put on his ceiling as a kid. They don't shine anymore but he refuses to take them off, always telling himself that he'll replace them soon. Everyone knows it's not gonna happen.

  
Especially now.

  
A ding on his phone has him reaching for it blindly, fingers trailing across his blankets before finding it and bringing it up to his face, expecting to find a text from Hunk.

  
Instead, it's an email.

  
He sits up fast and ignores the slight dizzy rush in his head. Several weeks ago the admissions department had sent him an email promising to let him know who his roommate is before he gets to the school.

  
Now, it seems the email's finally here.

  
His eyes shoot across the letter way too fast, jumping over the room key information and guidelines, before finding the name typed at the bottom right next to his.

  
_Keith Kogane, room 204, Lenix Hall._

  
He looks for more information, for anything to tell him who the guy actually is. But there's nothing.

  
Frustrated, he throws his phone to the other side of the bed and stands, running a hand through his short brown hair. He'd waited patiently for this letter and now that it's here, and wholly unsatisfying, he feels that anxiety creeping back. It nags at his mind, makes his stomach curl and his pulse race, thoughts rushing through him at lightning speed.

  
He could drop out before he even goes.

  
He could sneak into Hunk's dorm and set up camp under his bed.

  
He could hide out in his car for a full semester, cutting the overall cost of attendance in half.

  
That'd be a good thing, right?

  
"Lance!"

  
His mom's voice carries up the stairs and into his room, the strength behind it always powerful enough to be heard through his closed door.

  
"Finish packing!" She shouts again, "I won't have you running late on your first day!"

  
A huffing laugh escapes his lips and he slings the door open, rushing down the stairs to slide on the hardwood in his socks, "It's not the first day, mom. It's just a day for moving in."

  
She makes a tsking noise, "Same thing."

  
Her hair is pulled high behind huge goggles, the likes of which have Lance raising a brow.

  
"Oh." She swipes them off, "I was cleaning. Scrubbing the floor. For uh, there was dirt. By the door-"

  
"Yeah, yeah." He passes her with a kiss on the cheek, "Just go have fun."

  
His parents anniversary is tonight and even though she'd asked him repeatedly if he wanted them to put it off to help him finish packing, he'd refused. If there's anything his parents deserve, it's a night off. Besides, once he's off to college they'll have the entire house to themselves. His brothers and sister have already fled, each finding their own way in the world a few years ago.

  
Now, it's Lance's turn.

  
He doesn't know how he's actually supposed to feel about it.

  
"Well, remember." His mom starts to make her way up the stairs to get dressed, "Don't go-"

  
"Don't go into the basement." Lance turns with a laugh, "Black mold. Totally hazardous, could kill me if I take one whiff. I know."

  
He and Hunk had already looked up the effects of black mold long ago, both finding it strange that his parents had yet to call someone to take care of it. Hunk guessed that it was in the foundation of the house, almost impossible for someone to locate the source and probably costing tons of money.

  
But Lance had never quite believed it.

  
And after digging through a few pages on the web, he knew that it wouldn't immediately kill him like his parents wanted him to believe. If anything, he'd get a headache. A shitty, long-lasting headache, but he could just pop a few pain pills and move on.

  
This is what he tells himself later that night. The house is empty and creaking, the old walls always seeming to breathe as the sun sets. Lance stares at the basement door, knowing that there just had to be boxes in there. He still had to pack his shoes.

  
Lots of shoes.

  
It's made him desperate.

  
He glances back at the front door, as if his mom would barge through and wack him on the back of his head with her hand, berating him for even thinking of it. But she doesn't.

  
"It's just mold." Lance murmurs to himself, "Get a box and run. Easy. Quit being so lame."

  
He pauses.

  
"Quit talking to yourself, too."

  
A snicker, shaky with nerves, leaves his mouth. And then he's pulling at the door, tensing as a waft of cold air hits him square in the face. For a moment, he expects to drop. To splay on the floor and die, just like his mom always said.

  
Instead, he reaches for a switch.

  
Nothing.

  
"Shit." He whispers, taking to the stairs at a snails pace.

  
Lance has never been too afraid of the dark. If it was storming and the power decided to shut off, he could handle it. The days of him screaming bloody murder were over seven years ago on his twelfth birthday, the need to be brave stronger than any ghost he imagined waited for him outside of his door.

  
He takes a deep breath and pretends that the power went out. That there's nothing in the house except his parents, cursing and running around for candles.

  
The moment he gets to the bottom of the stairs, he stops in his tracks. It's way bigger than he thought it could be and though it's a bit drafty, he doesn't smell anything even close to mold.

  
He doesn't smell anything other than metal and chemicals.

  
"What the-" Lance furrows his brows and takes a few more steps into the room, eyes caught on some massive form in the dark.

  
Suddenly, the basement door slams shut.

  
The shriek that leaves Lance is downright piercing, high pitched and full of fear. He runs forward, hands searching the closest wall for a switch or button or something. His fingers land on a lever and he pulls it down without a second thought, a deep vibration running across the ground and into his body almost immediately, making him turn as something comes to life.

Neon green and spinning like some kind of cheesy scifi vortex, the huge shape finally takes form.

  
And it doesn't make any damn sense.

  
But it's given him light, enough to see where he's stepping and what's laying around.

 

Definitely not boxes.

  
Tables are spread out, covered in junk. He walks between them, the glow of the vortex shining like the reflection of sunlight on water against his dark skin. Bulky metal and wires litter every surface, interrupted by papers and what could only be described as weapons.

  
_Weird_ weapons.

  
He reaches for one, shock seeming to tame any kind of major freak out he should probably be having. Suddenly, just before he can touch his fingers to the strange looking gun, the vortex begins to pulse. Green to blue, undulating in rapid succession until the entire basement is filled with blinding, flashing light.

  
Lance tries to cover his eyes but he never gets the chance. With a panicked shout, he feels his feet slide an inch. It's like a magnet had activated but instead of metals, it was forcing _him_ forward. He reaches out, trying desperately to grab at the closest table.

  
He misses.

  
And then he's flying, sent straight toward the vortex. His feet go in first but he can't focus on the feeling.

 

He stares, desperately, at the stairs.

 

At the door leading to his kitchen.

 

With a final flash, he's gone.

  
Everything goes dark.

  
And then he's spit out, as if a monster had hated the taste of him. Only, he doesn't land on to feet. He's shot through the wall, the plaster and wood and insulation feeling like pure air before he materializes on the other side.

  
At first he doesn't even realize he's glowing.

  
He doesn't see the changes; the silver of his hair, the strange black suit, the compactor latched to his side like a vise.

 

All he does is blink, dumbfounded.

  
And the rest is history.

 

 

_***~*~*~*** _

  
_**Present Day** _

 

  
"You need to move."

  
The words come to him in an echo, whispering against his ears and tugging at his brain.

  
"Dude, come _on_. I wanna get out of here."

  
Something cold touches his face and Lance shoots up, his hair pushed back from his forehead and his cheek red from where it had rested on the table. There's a sticky patch on his jaw and he can smell the familiar ooze of syrup.

  
"Gross." He mutters, bringing a hand to wipe at it.

  
"Seriously, Lance. Get out. The cafeteria's closing until lunch."

  
Lance looks up, finally spotting the boy glaring at him. His hands are on his hips, thick black hair pulled back in a ponytail, a telltale worker's apron hanging from his shoulders.

  
Keith looks exhausted. Almost as tired as Lance, if the dark shadows beneath his eyes have anything to say about it. In a way, he pities the guy. The only way to cover the costs of college led Keith to working on campus, effectively lessening any debt he could have had.

  
_Not worth it,_ Lance thinks, glancing at the syrup that had spilled from his own plate onto the table, _definitely not worth it._

  
"Whatever." Lance finally mutters, rolling his eyes at Keith's exasperated sigh.

  
The second he stands to go, Keith is scrubbing at the table, "You can't sleep in here anymore."

  
Lance picks up his bag, "Says who? You?"

  
"No. But you're lucky it's me who always finds you."

  
"Yeah." Lance deadpans, "I'm the luckiest guy in the world."

  
He doesn't wait around for Keith to retort. As the morning sun finds his face, he just can't bring himself to care. They'd been roommates since freshman year, moving from the dorms to a small apartment for sophomore year, but they still don't know much about each other. Lance had tried to gather what he could about the guy from his belongings. But it was pretty hard, considering he barely _has_ anything. A blanket and a poster of the X-Files in his room, car keys always left on his desk and endless half empty water bottles strewn about, sometimes a sheathed knife left on the kitchen table that Lance is almost certain isn't allowed in campus housing.

  
But that's it.

  
He walks toward the math hall with a defeated droop of his head, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. Keith had woken him just in time for his first class, a miracle considering he'd missed the last two weeks in a row.

  
As he enters the lecture hall, he lets out a small sigh.

  
It's not like he was playing hooky. He wasn't over-sleeping or binging on chips and the latest video game.

  
He looks around and takes in the sea of faces, all ignorant of the dangers that lurk around them. Ignorant to his role in keeping them safe, night after night, in an endless cycle.

  
And as he sends a quick wish to the universe for a boring, uneventful day, he pulls out his notebook. Eager, in a way, to attend a normal class.

  
Though within the next five minutes, his head is resting on his hand and he's out like a light.

 

 

***~***

 

 

**_Somewhere close by, in a different portal:_ **

 

  
The growls resound around the attic one after another, like an approaching army of the dead. Flashes of purple light fill the air in arching bolts, the forced activation of the portal running hard against a firewall that should've kept it dormant.

  
This thing hasn't been used in years.

  
But it doesn't stop them.

 

A hand erupts from the vortex, large and clawed.

  
They're bloodthirsty.

  
They're _hungry_.

  
And they're coming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos!! It definitely motivated me to get this chapter up a bit earlier than I was originally planning, so that's a plus lol. This chapter is FULL of action but chapter three will slow it down just a bit and give more insight to a few things. 
> 
> BTW, every now and then there will be a point of view shift in a chapter. It won't happen every chapter but when it does, they will always be separated and named for who's point of view it will be. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

_"...another victim, now known as twenty six year old Jon Reeves, has just been identified. No suspects have been detained at this time. If you suspect any strange behavior, do not hesitate to call 911-"_

  
Lance walks out of his room with bed head, brown locks sticking out in all directions like some kind of nineties video game character. A mental flash of that Sora kid from Kingdom Hearts makes him scoff and run a hand through it, trying and failing to tame the mess. As the muffled drone of the TV becomes clearer and clearer, he yawns and bypasses the small living room, eyebrow raised at the flickering glow.

  
Keith lounges on the couch, a rare sight considering it's already 8pm.

  
The fridge is almost empty but Lance is quick to grab the orange juice, drinking straight from the carton with another quick look to his roommate. The last thing he needs is to be chastised for backwash. Which he does _not_ partake in, by the way.

  
Dry mouth satiated, he reaches for a box of Trix, the colorful pebbles a welcoming sight. His stomach growls and he shoves the cereal into his mouth, deciding to just bring the whole box with him to the couch.

  
Keith shifts, eyes sliding to Lance before looking back at the TV, seemingly languid and relaxed. They sit in silence, the crunch of the cereal the only noise other than the voices on the nightly news.

  
Barely paying attention, Lance shoves another handful of cereal into his mouth, eyes hooded with fatigue. The second he'd gotten home from his last class he'd walked straight to his bed and promptly passed out. Now he's in that haze, that weird little limbo that he tends to get stuck in when he sleeps for hours but still wakes up to the same day completely disoriented.

  
His eyes finally focus on the TV, the woman on the screen looking more and more upset as the seconds pass.

  
"Can you turn it up?" Lance asks, brows furrowing at the flashing police lights and shaky home video.

  
Keith bumps the volume up a few notches and tucks his feet into the couch, "They found some bodies or something."

  
"What?" Lance puts his cereal down on the coffee table, listening to the chief of police answer questions in front of a podium.

  
_"As of this time, we cannot deny or confirm the substance found on the bodies.."_

  
"It's like, slime or something." Keith mumbles, "They won't give any more details than that."

  
"Shit."

  
"Huh?"

  
Lance rips his attention away from the screen and shakes his head, "It's just uh, really messed up you know?" He motions toward the screen.

  
Keith raises a brow, nodding, "Yeah. Totally."

  
_Awkward_.

  
"So," Lance tries to look away from the screen but finds it ridiculously difficult, "you don't have any plans tonight? No party?"

  
"No."

  
"Oh. Cool."

  
_Awkward x2_.

  
"You wanna watch a movie or something?" Keith asks, the words sounding a bit forced, as if he hadn't even meant to ask.

  
Lance shakes his head, "It's cool. I might go sleep a bit more before I pick up something to eat. Or go pick something up first, sleep later, not sure yet."

  
"Oh-"

  
Lance stands and ignores the crumbs falling from his shirt, promising himself that he'd clean it later. Because now, he feels the itch.

  
The looming death.

  
The transformation that, if he isn't careful, could happen right now. In this small living room, right next to his roommate who, by the looks of it, already thinks something's up.

  
Lance looks down at him and tries to smirk but he can feel it turn into a grimace, "Want me to pick anything up for you? Taco bell, pizza?"

  
Keith's brows are furrowed and his cheeks are flushed but Lance can't reflect on it.

  
He just has to go.

  
He has to go _now_.

  
"I'll get you something!" Lance shouts and sprints toward his bedroom, "Just text me!"

  
The moment the door shuts, a burst of blue meets him.

  
And with no other hesitation he's flying, straight through wall and into the night.

 

  
_***~*~*~*** _

 

  
Lance's hair lifts around his face as if he were suspended beneath water. Eyes glowing, fingers releasing static and spark, he walks toward the ghost with the full intention of putting it down.

  
Completely.

  
No guilt, no trying to force it into the dimensional compactor.

  
He just wants to obliterate the thing.

  
While unsure that it's the ghost running around and murdering people, Lance is certain that it's dangerous. That it's, for all intents and purposes, definitely evil.

  
But before he can wrap his hand around it's lithe neck, or punch through it's concave chest, the creature sprints. Lance braces for impact only to remain standing, watching as it practically zooms out of the house.

  
The sleeping family remains completely unaware and he leaves without a second thought, chasing after it with renewed determination. They enter trees, the forest surrounding the city expansive and dark.

  
And before he knows it, they're both in a new house.

  
Well, a new _old_ house. Obviously abandoned, with dust covering the furniture and the smell of mold heady in the air. He slams into the ghost's back with his feet, knocking it down with the intent of stomping it out.

  
But it disappears through the floor.

  
Lance groans and follows suit, the sudden shift in temperature minuscule. All basements, he's come to learn, are pretty much the same. Drafty, dark, wet and full of nooks to hide in.

  
"I really don't wanna play some twisted game of hide and seek!" Lance calls out, landing on the ground to take a few careful steps forward, "Maybe if you weren't such an _asshole_ , I could offer you a ride home to the Ghost Zone through my little compactor here. But, obviously, you are a total piece of-"

  
Pain shoots through his abdomen and he looks down, eyebrows raised in shock. The thing had snuck up on him and pushed a clawed hand through his guts, a stream of luminescent blue leaking from the impact.

  
It hurts like hell, forcing him to let out a choked cough. But in a way, he's grown used to the phantom pain, the lessened effect of what it _could_ feel like if his body wasn't technically nonexistent.

  
"That is so," Lance reaches down and twists, listening to the ghost wail in pain, "damn _rude_."

  
The hand retracts and Lance spins, grimacing at the feel of ghostly skin regeneration. A superpower, if he were alive.

  
But, considering he's dead, he just thinks of it as a talent.

  
A cool little trick.

  
The ghost shoots up with a howl, disappearing through the ceiling as if it were water. Frustration makes Lance fast, his legs bending to take off after the damn thing.

  
They race toward the top floor, meeting in the hallway before the ghost can continue through the roof and into the sky. Lance slams into it and feels it go down, his strong legs settling on either side of its wide chest.

  
"There will be more," The ghost gurgles, voice rumbling against Lance's thighs, "we're going to kill again and again-"

  
"So you _did_ kill those people." Lance sneers, wishing the ghost could've been a harmless haunt instead of this bloodthirsty...thing.

  
The ghost laughs.

  
Lance raises a fist with a huff and aims for the its chest, sparks falling as if from livewire-

  
A door opens downstairs.

  
They both, quite comically, freeze.

  
Voices float up to them and Lance glances down, watching as the ghost seems to smile, a gnarly set of razor sharp teeth gleaming against the blue of Lance's eyes. He sneers and reaches for its neck, fingers wrapping tight before he tries to stand. His steps are slow as he peeks over the banister, confused as to who could be here.

  
In an abandoned house, at midnight, _in the woods_.

  
A dark head of hair passes beneath the stairwell making Lance lean even further, a spark of recognition making the breath halt in his chest. Momentarily forgetting about the benevolent spirit held beside him, he searches to confirm that it's not who he thinks it is. 

  
But when the weight of the ghost disappears completely, he's quickly brought back to the task at hand.

  
Looking down, panic pierces through him.

  
Because now the ghost is gone, with only a dark purple glow trailing down the stairs for Lance to follow.

 

 

 

**POV: Keith**

 

  
Keith likes the dark.

  
He likes the anonymity of it, the chance it gives him to blend in and search.

  
To explore.

  
After his roommate left, the entire interaction weird enough to have Keith thinking about it even now, he'd waited. But much to Keith's disappointment Lance never left for food and he assumed the boy had fallen asleep again.

  
It's rare for Keith to be home and even rarer for his roommate to be there with him. Hopelessly, he'd waited on the couch, his heart leaping the moment the boy's door had opened the first time.

  
He winces, remembering the awkward pauses as he'd tried to find something to say. His blurted suggestion that they watch a movie, his hesitation to suggest they go find something to eat _together_ instead of Lance just bringing something back. 

  
Yeah.

  
Completely, utterly, hopeless.

  
"Are you sure this is the right house?" Pidge whispers, her voice coming through with static from the walkytalky in Keith's hand.

  
He looks around, the walls of the house covered in cracked wallpaper, a hideous design of faded red roses and tea cups.

  
"Is there any other house abandoned in the woods like this?" Keith answers, lips brushing the device, "The article gave away the address like it was nothing."

  
He hears footsteps above him but pushes down the spike of excitement, knowing it's just Pidge opening doors and taking pictures. They'd just arrived at the house and so far they haven't caught anything, not too surprising considering they rarely ever did.

  
They used to call it a hobby. Something to do when they both decided that college parties and bars were definitely not their thing. Keith scrunches his nose at the memory of freshman year, of puke that always tasted like beer and some nasty food that he'd eaten earlier in the night.

  
Part of him knows it's a bit weird, considering he gives up his sleep for this. During the day he's like anyone else, attending classes and working in the cafeteria to help pay for his tuition costs. 

  
But at night, he prefers this.

  
He likes believing in the chance of ghosts, of the paranormal world that just _has_ to exist. He likes going through recordings and pictures, tacking the suspicious shots on his wall, researching terms used for spirits and hot spots for activity.

  
_Some people play video games all night,_ he reasons, _I just like to pretend that i'm_ in _one._

  
"Did you hear that?"

  
Keith jumps and spins, flashlight reflecting off a pair of glasses.

  
"Shit, dude!" Pidge holds up a hand, "It's just me!"

  
"I thought you were upstairs." Keith points the flashlight at the ground, "I heard you walking around-"

  
"Nope." Pidge shakes her head and glances up as if she could see through the ceiling, "I was in the kitchen. They never even cleaned it out, it's actually really, _really_ gross if you wanna go look."

  
"Wait." Realization dawns on Keith, "You...weren't upstairs? And neither was I."

  
It's silent as they listen, both frozen in place. And then they're running, practically knocking into each other for the chance to get up the stairs first. Their hushed whispers bounce off of the walls, echoing around them the further they rise until they're both met with the long hallway.

  
"Is the recorder on?" Pidge slaps at Keith's arm, "Turn it on, hurry!"

  
But it already is.

  
"Should we ask questions?" Pidge whispers, "Should we see if they have a name?"

  
A cold blast of air slams through Keith, making him shudder and take a step back. Pidge raises a brow, watching at the way his eyes go round.

  
"Did you feel that?"

  
"Uh.."

  
"I think there's something here."

 

Pidge fumbles with her recorder and holds it up like a priest in a cheesy horror movie about an exorcism.

  
A bang makes them both spin, the sound similar to the slamming of a door.

  
"Shit." Pidge raises her camera and snaps a picture, "Maybe the article was legit. Maybe-"

  
Another bang, this one much closer, makes the walls shake. Keith lets out a loud noise, something completely embarrassing. But Pidge is too distracted to care and he reasons that the ghost probably doesn't care either.

  
A rush of smell wafts around them, something fresh and earthy at the same time.

  
Something familiar.

  
"What the-"

  
A screech, or maybe a sliding of metal upon metal, makes both of them look toward the stairs. And again, they're off, hustling toward the living room with heaving breaths.

  
"Woah." Pidge murmurs after they stop next to a couch,"It's like it knows we're looking for it."

  
Keith doesn't think that's too far off. Maybe the ghost is angry.

  
Maybe it wants them out.

  
"What if it's demonic?" Keith glances at Pidge, "Like a poltergeist or something."

  
"Then we're screwed."

  
They look at each other, as if trying to see what the other wants to do without really saying anything, when an old picture frame flies from the wall. Pidge shrieks and ducks, but it seems aimed for Keith's own head.

  
It misses him by a few inches.

  
Too close.

  
"It's mad." Pidge nods, "Definitely mad."

  
But she continues taking pictures, both of them buzzing with adrenaline.

  
With slight disbelief.

  
"I'm gonna take a video." Keith reaches for his phone, gaze trailing around the room.

  
But when he looks at the screen it's completely dark.

  
As if the tech had been drained of power, the battery used up and left dead. A moment later, Pidge's follows.

  
"No!" She shouts, immediately trying to force reboot the device, "You gotta be fucking with me!"

  
"We read about this." Keith's voice is quiet, the silence of the house seeming harsher now, "You know, about poltergeist's using tech for energy. To get stronger."

  
Pidge scowls, "Well it's an assho-"

  
The couch moves as if someone had slammed into the cushions, forcing it back with a boom. They both scream, finally uncaring of appearing brave in the face of the unknown.

  
"A couch?!" Pidge grabs Keith's sleeve and tugs, "That thing is _strong_. If it can flip a couch it could like, throw us through a window!"

  
"We aren't prepared for this shit." Keith agrees.

  
"We can come back."

  
"Totally."

  
They stay only a moment longer, that same fight or flight response seemingly stuck in the third option: freeze.

  
A lamp flies toward the stairs.

  
And, finally, they haul ass. Tripping over the threshold, they make it to the yard and don't turn back, even as bemused laughter leaves their lips. Even as they get into Keith's car and peel out, the trees eventually giving way to open road.

 

 

**POV: Lance**

 

 

The first thing Lance thinks when Keith bounds up the stairs is: _you have_ got _to be fucking kidding me._

  
Of all the things he'd suspected Keith of doing every night, exploring abandoned houses in the woods was definitely not one of them. The girl beside him looks scared but there's an underlying hint of determination, as if they were there to kick a ghosts ass instead.

  
Lance lets out a laugh and slaps a hand over his mouth a second later. But he knows neither of them can hear him. They can't see him or smell him or do anything other than stand there with some cheap thrift shop recorder.

  
A flash of purple lights up behind them and Lance wastes no more time, taking to the air and pushing through Keith, feeling a strange burst of heat before knocking the creature down the stairs. They land in a heap, a clawed hand digging into Lance's shoulder.

  
"Did you feel that?"

  
Lance whips his head up, chest clenching.

  
There's no way Keith felt him.

  
No way.

  
The ghost uses its legs to push Lance off and rushes back toward the stairs, making it half way before Lance grabs his leg and yanks.

  
"No you don't." Lance grinds his teeth, "Get your ass back here."

  
The ghost falls and it sounds like an earthquake, making the walls shake from the force. Lance shoots up and places himself between the ghost and Keith, jaw clenching at the stare he receives.

  
The ghost is now _royally_ pissed. 

  
Keith shifts behind him, "What the-"

  
Claws outstretched, the ghost strikes them across the wall, completely ripping the wallpaper and splintering the wood.

  
Lance gasps as the air shifts behind him and he rushes the ghost, forcing him back as that heat returns, Keith flying past him a second later.

  
He wishes they'd leave. That they'd get the hint that this place is not some cool hangout and they're in real trouble.

  
"You know him."

  
Lance rips his attention away from Keith, having been unknowingly staring, "No-"

  
The ghost rips a picture frame from the wall and chucks it across the room, giving Lance half a second to push it away from Keith's head. It laughs and rams into Lance, pushing him into the couch with a boom.

  
They roll as if they were wrestling and Lance knocks into a table, a lamp sailing to the floor with a loud crash.

  
And finally, blessedly, they leave.

  
If he weren't fighting for his undead life, he'd probably laugh at their haste.

  
Instead, he brings his head forward and knocks it into the ghost's and ignores the short burst of pain. He climbs onto its shoulders and wraps his thighs around its neck, using an arm to catch beneath its chin. He tugs upward to cut off the airflow.

  
_Funny_ , he thinks, _that ghosts still breathe._

  
He's tossed into the air but he doesn't crash back down, his own weightlessness giving him the advantage.

  
But the ghost is gone, not even a trace of purple goo left in its wake. He rushes out of the house and hovers above, eyes scanning the trees. With a frustrated shout, he flies for miles in each direction, looking for any burst of activity, feeling for any itch or vibrating energy.

  
Nothing.

  
Eventually, he gives up. Part of him is annoyed that he'd fought for so long only to have been duped. But the bigger part of him, the part that actually takes this shit seriously, is panicked. Worried. Scared shitless.

  
Because he didn't send that thing into his compactor and he _definitely_ didn't defeat it for good. It's out there, flying around and searching for its next victim.

  
The threat echoes in his mind.

  
_We're going to kill again and again..._

  
A flash of black hair and grey eyes makes Lance pause. And then he's zooming home, knowing without a doubt that the ghost had pointed out Lance's  attention to Keith for a reason.

  
He finds their roof and lets out a heavy breath before entering his room, fully intending to hunt Keith down and throttle him for-

  
A scream rips through the air as he returns to normal, making him whip around and match the sound with his own, both pitched high enough to shatter glass.

  
"Lance?" Hunk asks, breathless, his entire body pushed back against the bedroom door.

 

_Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry I disappeared for a while! Had to take a break from things and went on a small hiatus. But I'm back and updates will resume. Thank you for being patient and I hope you continue to enjoy this story! :)

 

 

 

Lance knew at least one of them would pass out.

 

But honestly, he _really_ thought it would be him.

 

Hunk falls to the bed with a small groan before sliding to the floor, his bandanna coming undone. Lance lets out a shocked noise and dives for him, hands hauling him up by his shoulders. Muscles ripple beneath his fingers but Hunk doesn't open his eyes.

 

"Shit, buddy." Lance puts a hand to his forehead, as if he simply had a fever and not intense shock, "C'mon. Wake up."

 

He moves the hand down to slap at Hunk's round cheek, little pats only making his eyelids flutter. With a huff, Lance lays him gently to the floor and runs to the kitchen, grabbing a cup from the drying rack. He fills it with cold water and hopes, desperately, that it'll wake Hunk up.

 

With a small frown, he pours it over his best friend's head.

 

Hunk surges up with a shout, eyes wide before they land on Lance. He scrambles back, boots kicking at the plush blue rug Lance settled beside his bed only days ago.

 

"You-" Lance sets the empty glass down and squats, trying to meet Hunk's gaze, "you good?"

 

"What the fuck?" Hunk whispers before letting his voice rise, "You were..I saw you, like-"

 

Lance debates lying. He could just act like he scared Hunk by barging through the door. Right? That could totally work, couldn't it?

 

But the confusion on Hunk's face makes Lance feel guilty. And for the first time in a long time, desperate.

 

Desperate to finally tell someone, to let a bit of the weight fall from his shoulders. And who better to help him with that than his best friend?

 

"So," Lance winces and plops to his ass, running a hand through his hair, "yeah. You saw that. It was real."

 

"Care to fucking explain?" Hunk glances toward the spot where Lance had appeared, as if he'd suddenly do it again.

 

"Sure." Lance tries for a grin but it falls flat, "Want the full story? Or the short and sweet one?"

 

Hunk glares, "Just tell me, Lance. Before I run out of that door and...and I don't know, pass out again!"

 

So, Lance tells him.

 

_***~*~*~*** _

 

  
"Ghosts." Hunk mutters for the nth time that night, his body covered by a thick layer of Lance's blanket.

 

His head is surrounded like the blanket is a hood, the only visible part of his body being his face.

 

Lance nods.

 

"Ghosts and...and plasm. Your a ghost fighting other ghosts. Because your parents built a fucking....like a dimensional teleport? A _portal_?"

 

"Yup." Lance reaches for the chips on his bed and shoves another handful into his mouth.

 

After a fight, it's best he recharges in one of two ways.

 

Eat or sleep.

 

Just so happens, tonight it's the prior.

 

"This is-" Hunk shakes his head and opens his mouth, waiting for the cheeto to fly onto his tongue from Lance's own fingers, "this is wack, man. Weird."

 

"Tell me about it." Lance grumbles, slightly proud of his chip to mouth marksmanship.

 

"It totally fucks up like, all of physics, you know that right? Like, one day I wake up and think _oh i'll go surprise my best friend tonight with the new space fighting game that he's been blabbing about for months_ and the next I find out he's fighting ghosts. Like some kind of dead Batman."

 

Lance raises a thin brow, "Interesting analogy."

 

Hunk groans and opens his mouth for another cheeto, the crunch settling in the short silence that follows.

 

Eventually, Lance rolls up the chip bag and falls onto his stomach, laying his face on Hunk's thigh. It's extra soft from the blanket and, blessedly, very warm. He sighs and shuts his eyes, heart racing.

 

He blames it on several things: the fact that his best friend now knows he's, technically, a walking phenomena. The threat that the ghost had spout lingering in his head. And, he begrudgingly admits, the eventual return of Keith to the apartment.

 

Hunk lets out a heavy breath, "Can't believe you battled a ghost in front of your roommate."

 

"Eh," Lance grimaces, "Keith never actually saw me. But I think he felt me."

 

"You gonna tell him?"

 

Lance shoots up, eyes going round, "Hell no."

 

"I dunno, Lance." Hunk's shock has faded just enough for him to tease, "Seems like he'd be kinda into it. You know, the whole glowing eyes and ghostie goo-"

 

"Oh my god." Lance groans, "I feel like i'm back in fucking high school."

 

Hunk snorts, "Cause you got a crush?"

 

" _No_ , Hunk. I don't have a damn crush."

 

Lance quickly re-opens the chip bag and throws a cheesy puff, hitting Hunk square in the nose. He knew what it would start but he finds that he doesn't care. Even if it means his bed will be covered in orange dust.

 

They empty the bag and grab handfuls, half being pushed into their mouths before they're pelted at each other. It's an old thing, these childish acts. A little break from the woes of young adult life, full of snickering and crude humor.

 

But Lance feels his chest blossom at the sound of Hunk's laughter, at his ability to listen to Lance and take him for his word. To freak out but, in the end, always settle Lance's anxiety with part logic and part sarcasm.

 

With a silly roar of fake war, Lance launches himself at Hunk and tries to wrestle him from his blanket.

 

"I'll go ghost on you-" Lance threatens, voice practically a shout.

 

Hunk freezes and tries to push Lance away. And with nothing more than a small nod at the door, Lance whips his head around, hand still resting on the breadth of Hunk's chest.

 

Keith is wide-eyed, hair wind whipped and face smudged with something resembling dirt. In his hand is a bag, the logo for the closest burger joint wrinkled by his grip.

 

"Uh," He clears his throat and lowers his eyes, cheeks flaming, "I thought you might be hungry? Since you didn't eat earlier and all."

 

Lance finally lurches away from Hunk, scrambling to his feet on the floor. He wipes at the cheeto dust on his mouth and looks toward the bed, to the rumpled sheets and the scene that could be read wrong by literally anyone who had no idea why Lance was practically sitting in Hunk's lap.

 

"Yeah, cool!" Lance forces a grin to his face and strides forward, taking the bag from Keith, "I'll make up for it later. Anything you want, tacos or burgers or-"

 

"It's fine." Keith brings a hand to the back of his neck and gives Hunk a nod, "I'll let y'all get back to, uh, whatever. Later."

 

The door shuts in Lance's face and almost immediately Hunk shoves his face into a pillow to hide his laughter.

 

But Lance feels as if he'd messed up some fragile, confusing boundary. Something that keeps Keith and himself at a distance but still there, giving Lance hope that they could maybe become actual good friends _sooner_ rather than later.

 

He grimaces and drops the bag onto the bed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sleep. To let his brain shut off for a few hours.

 

"Poor guy." Hunk finally breathes, shoulders done heaving from what he apparently thought was beyond funny, "He must've thought we-"

 

"Hunk." Lance cuts him off, "So not helping."

 

_***~*~*~*** _

 

 

Waking up hours later, Lance knows he's missed his classes before he even looks at the time on his alarm clock. His eyes inch open against the deep orange light filtering in through his blinds, dust dancing like little sprites.

 

He moans and rolls to his back, rubbing at his cheek where drool had long since dried. He winces and knows he needs to shower, to wipe away the grime and fight from the night before.

 

It takes no time for him to finally push himself from his bed and grab at some comfortable clothes, all thoughts of going anywhere other than the bathroom wholly unappealing. The apartment is quiet when he inches his door open, peeking into the shadowed hallway.

 

No sign of Keith.

 

Practically running to the bathroom, he's quick to lock it and turn the water on, letting the splash and steam settle his nerves. Never has he been so nervous to see his roommate in his life. The guy's seen him drunk, sleep deprived and knee deep in a binge of shitty anime at four A.M. But this is a whole new level of bullshit, of embarrassment and confusion.

 

He gets into the shower with a sigh and scrubs fast, letting the heat and chemicals do their job. He lets the conditioner sit while he rubs a cleaner onto his face, willing it to enter his pores.

 

And then he leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes to listen to the own beat of his heart. A heart that is alive. That doesn't leak plasm or goo or have a hole in the size of a golf ball from some otherworldly injury.

 

In these moments, he's just Lance. Just a guy who misses home and wants to fly the rockets that take off into space.

 

That wants, desperately, to kiss someone.

 

He's always been a rather physical person, in need of hugs and the holding of hands and pecks on cheeks. It's like a lifeline, the way he enjoys the sensation of being surrounded by others.

 

But this want, this specific need to be touched, is not innocent.

 

Lance gulps, feeling the water trail down his body. And suddenly, he wishes that the water were fingers. Warm fingers, the soft leather of stupid black gloves-

 

He lets his own hand inch downward, feeling as though he _shouldn't_ but knowing it's never stopped him before.

 

And then he's gasping but it's not from his imagination or touch. He hisses a curse and wants to scream, not even having time to wash the suds from his face. He's lucky enough to jump from the shower and pull the pair of pants on the floor but that's all he can do.

 

Within seconds, he's lit up like a star.

 

And then he's dead.

 

_***~*~*~*** _

 

There's no other feeling like being interrupted during something...important. Lance frowns while he makes his way to the tug in his chest, following the feeling that always leads him to some bastard wanting to kill humans or take over their world.

 

It leads him through streets and houses, past sleeping children and parents who've finally gotten time to be alone. He grimaces at a particular couple and hurries on, flying through the wall before pulling up short.

 

Of all places, a park wasn't what he had in mind.

 

It's dark and the crickets are loud, the small pond surrounded by benches as calm and still as glass. He lets his feet touch the ground before striding forward, glowing eyes trailing the entire area for any sign of something inhuman.

 

The trees rustle and Lance spins, keen eyesight enhanced, until he spots something glowing on the ground. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, brows furrowing.

 

No sign of a ghost but it _definitely_ left some tracks.

 

Lance immediately rises, taking to the sky with a quick spring of his feet before they give way to the strange lack thereof. Once upon a time, it kind of freaked him out.

 

Now, he welcomes it.

 

He rises until he can scan the treetops, hands beginning to crackle, nerves spiking.

 

It's too quiet.

 

Too calm.

 

And then, with a yelp, it's suddenly not.

 

He's dragged down like a weight on a fishing pole, body passing through branches and leaves and underbrush until he slams into the ground. He managed to solidify his body just enough to remain above the dirt but it doesn't stop the huge fist from slamming into his face. He gasps and blinks away the shock, quick to thrust his long leg out and take the ghost down.

 

But it's _fast_ , almost too fast and it has Lance re-pinned in seconds. A furred arm, the feeling strange enough to make Lance pause, pushes at his throat. It cuts his airway and he tries to claw at the ghost, to dig his nails into whatever he can find-

 

" _You do not live alone._ "

 

The words make Lance falter but he can't even wheeze, can't even question the gurgle of words spewing from the ghost's mouth.

 

" _We watch you. We watch the boy._ "

 

Keith.

 

The implication is alarmingly obvious, another slam to Lance's face without the need for a physical punch. And it illicits something animalistic in him, something that makes his eyes shine brighter than before, his lips opening to bare his teeth. With only a tiny amount of concentration, he quickly lets himself dissipate and rise through the ghost, practically tasting his essence like sulfur on the tongue.

 

He grabs at the ghost's furred neck and pushes him face down into the ground, all within a few seconds.

 

"Where are you coming from?" Lance hisses, fingers squeezing tight, "Who's sending you?"

 

The thing gurgles in what can only be a laugh, " _You should stick close to the boy._ " It tries to rise but Lance keeps him mushed, strength exemplified by the fear in his chest, " _We'll snatch him just like the others. One of the few to start total infestation._ "

 

And then, with no warning, the ghost explodes. It slams into Lance in streaks of neon purple, coating his dark skin and silver hair, dripping from the sharp point of his chin. His hands fall to the earth and he breathes hard, eyes wide.

 

He replays the words in his mind like a record stuck on repeat, feeling a sudden wash of hopelessness. As far as he knows, he's the only one of his kind. There's no group of phantom's running around with the intent to keep the world safe from these things. There's no one who can help him fight, who can find the source of these new, increasingly spawned beings.

 

It's just him.

 

It's overwhelming, all-encompassing and _scary_. Even he can admit that.

 

But as quickly as the hopelessness rises, something else replaces it. A desperate realization that he's miles from home, that Keith is probably sitting alone on their couch, unprotected and at ease.

 

Like a burst of lighting, Lance jumps into the air, the already dented ground deepening from the impact of energy into the crust. He flies fast, uncaring of the wind chimes he knocks from porches, the shattering of plates in stranger's kitchens.

 

He only remembers to return to normal moments before slamming the door to his house open, bare chest heaving. Keith jumps in the foyer, in the process of putting on his old boots. Lance slams the door and leans against it, blue eyes still a bit too bright, a streak of white hair slowly fading near his ear.

 

And, he realizes, he's covered in red.

 

What is just plasma to him while he's full ghost looks, no doubt, something like paint to Keith.

 

Or blood.

 

Keith straightens fast and drops the boot in his hand, thick brows raised to his hairline. He reaches a hand out as if he were going to keep Lance from sliding to the floor but in the end, he does anyway.

 

His legs ache and the punch on his face feels like it's actually going to bruise this time.

 

He's a wreck.

 

But relief has trickled into him before the inevitable pour, the sight of Keith safe and not torn to shreds by ghostly hands almost too much to bear. Lance lets out a choked noise and drops his head into his hands, fingers stained just like the rest of him.

 

Heat suddenly rests against him and he can see Keith's black shirt brush his legs, a pale hand reaching to rest on his upper arm. He seems uncaring of the mess, of the implications that the faux-blood might bring.

 

"What the fuck happened?" Keith breathes, "Are you okay?"

 

The question makes a small sob leave Lance's throat but he keeps it from cascading to more. God forbid he let his tears flow now.

 

He squares his shoulders and lifts his head, throat bobbing at their proximity.

 

"I'm fine." He tries to laugh but it comes out like a tired, defeated chuckle, "Uh, got into a fight. Well, a paintball fight. Got destroyed by the red team, was totally outnumbered."

 

Keith sounds unbelieving, as if he knew Lance was full of shit but didn't really want to voice it, "So that's why your so upset? Cause you  _lost?"_

 

"Nah. Just, uh, saw an ex. Took it pretty hard since we didn't end on the best terms." Lance meets his eyes before dragging them away, knowing it's a pitiful, ridiculous slew of lies.

 

But it's all he can do.

 

All he can think of to cover his dumb ass.

 

Keith leans back on his heels and furrows his brows, eyes roaming Lance's face like he's looking for something. Searching.

 

"What uh," Lance glances at the shoe still laying in the foyer, "What're you up to?"

 

"About to head out. Gonna meet up with Pidge." Keith finally stands but his eyes slide back to Lance in obvious worry, his mouth turned down in a frown.

 

Lance's chest tightens at the thought of Keith leaving, of being out of his sight with these new freaks running around town. He stands fast and blinks away a roll of dizzy vision.

 

"Mind if I go?" Lance glances down at his hands, at the red now stained forever into his pants, "After I shower, I mean."

 

Keith looks taken aback when Lance raises his gaze. His own eyes are wide, face flushed, hands stopping their incessant pulling on the laces of his boots.

 

Keith clears his throat and nods, just once, mouth pressing into a hard line.

 

But Lance knows this is the only way. To keep Keith safe, he'll just stick by him. Probably annoy him. Possibly ruin whatever chance they have for a good friendship.

 

But at least the guy won't die.

 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Lance, getting beat up every damn day, trying to save the world by himself, trying and failing to deny his crush on Keef. It's rough, buddy.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a bit jumpy but the plot is finally picking up a bit. Next chapter will start with Keith's POV.


	4. Chapter 4

Keith might be dying.

  
His heart is hammering, palms sweaty on the wheel, lips pushed tight between his teeth while Lance fiddles with the radio; something that's putting his stomach in knots. It's not the first they've been in the same car and Keith really shouldn't be so nervous. He shouldn't be acting like he's back in junior high, for fucks sake.

 

But Lance had showered before they left and Keith is all too aware of his apple shampoo, the smell strong enough to waft in the air between them. Taking a deep breath, Keith slides his eyes away from the road and feels his face flush almost instantly at the sight of the damp hair on Lance's neck.

 

Looking back at the road, Keith really wishes the guy would just talk. Since when does Lance not _talk_?

 

"So what-"

 

"So who-"

 

They both stop, their words blending together in an awkward tangle.

 

"Go ahead." Keith mutters, fingers tightening just a bit on the wheel.

 

Lance clears his throat, "So what're we gonna do tonight? Party? Drive a few miles to the beach, go clubbing?"

 

Keith lets out a snort, ignoring the flash of embarrassment he feels immediately after, "No. Just video games."

 

"Video games."

 

Keith nods, "And pizza. Maybe."

 

"There better be pizza." Lance smirks, "Extra cheese."

 

"Sure," Keith feels his shoulders relax just a bit, "and pepperoni."

 

 

"Definitely."

 

"Pidge can't stand that weird meat they sometimes put on it. The gray kind."

 

"Sausage?"

 

Keith makes an _I dunno_ noise and turns down a vacant street, closer to the woods than their home back on campus. The trees pass in a blur as his foot pushes on the gas, happier the further they get away from city lights. Lance rolls down his window and lets his hair whip in the wind, fingers drumming on the door with the beat of some song on the radio.

 

"I've met Pidge a few times." Lance suddenly says, "Short gal, round glasses, right?"

 

"Uh, yeah."

 

"Cool. You guys hang out a lot."

 

Keith's brows furrow, "Yeah, we're pretty close. Best friends."

 

"Best friends." Lance nods and keeps his face turned toward the treeline, "Like uh, me and Hunk. Just friends, yanno, good ole' pals."

 

"Oh?" Keith tries to tease, "You sure? Cause I mean, I thought you were into girls for what? Almost three years now? And then I saw-"

 

"Yeah, yeah." Lance rolls his eyes and finally turns his head back, his face dark from Keith's peripheral, "Well, ya' thought wrong, buddy. Girls and boys and everything else, all good for me. I mean, I love Hunk but he's been my friend since, like, _forever_."

 

Keith tries to remain calm. To keep his surprise at a minimum, his face cool and collected. It's not like he'll suddenly look at Keith in a new light, all fireworks and flower petals in the wind. So he likes guys. Big deal.

 

"Pidge said the door will be unlocked." Keith changes the subject, "We can let ourselves in."

 

After the car is parked and they've trekked up Pidge's ridiculously steep driveway, they're greeted by the dark.

 

"Uh.." Lance closes the door behind them.

 

"Pidge, c'mon!" Keith calls out, immediately flicking the hallway light on, "We're hungry and I need to blow some shit up!"

 

A snicker sounds from ahead and a green glow lights up the living room, dim but there all the same. Keith rolls his eyes and stalks forward, leaving his keys on the hallway table before slamming his hand against the wall to turn on the overhead light.

 

Pidge's goggles are huge. They're clunky and covered in stickers: aliens and UFO's and fake little ghosts that look like rounded sheets.

 

Keith sighs but smiles anyway, hoping Lance doesn't think it's too weird-

 

"Night vision?" Lance asks, voice pitched in a way that screams curiosity.

 

Pidge pushes them up, causing her wild hair to grow even wilder. She looks Lance up and down before nodding, quick to grab her glasses from the floor beside her.

 

"New and improved. Wanna see?"

 

Lance nods enthusiastically and wastes no time putting them on, oblivious to Pidge's eyes finding Keith's with a very pointed look. A look that asks, _is he actually interested or just being nice?_

 

He just shrugs.

 

"Keith hurry and turn off the lights." Lance orders, fitting the goggles snug over his eyes.

 

Once everything is dark, all Keith can see of Lance is the green. It reflects off of his mouth but that's about it, everything else is left to shadow. He looks around, whipping his head to every corner of the room as if something would suddenly appear.

 

"Very cool." He breathes and suddenly he's looking in Keith's direction, focusing in a way that makes him just a tad nervous.

 

"What? Somethin' behind me?" Keith questions, feeling the hair on his neck prickle.

 

The hallway is long and his eyes are already playing tricks; the _last_ thing he needs is to feel the urge to whip out some dorky ghost hunting gear in front of his damn crush. With that thought in mind, he quickly turns the light back on and heads for the kitchen.

 

"How'd you make these?"

 

He listens to Pidge explain her method before downing a full glass of water.

 

"...so I bet they'll be able to see spirits soon. Just gotta test them out-"

 

A crash cuts her off and Keith sprints back to the living room, eyeing the goggles now splayed on the ground. Pidge curses and bends to snatch them back, brows furrowed, mouth twisting in frustration.

 

"Shit, sorry, I didn't mean-"

 

"You could've broken them." Pidge snaps.

 

"It was an accident, Pidgeon. Chill." Keith says, "And they're not broken, right?"

 

She glances between Lance and the goggles before letting herself relax. Strutting to the couch, she plops down and lets out a deep breath, setting the goggles on the table in front of her.

 

"Well, whatever." She nods toward the TV, "Pick something to play before the pizza gets here."

 

 

_***~*~*~*** _

 

"You really suck at this."

 

Keith rolls his eyes for the upteenth time that night and reaches blindly for his slice of pizza, trying and failing to keep his character from getting another K.O.

 

"Fuck." He groans and shoves the pizza into his mouth, uncaring for the drop of a pepperoni on the floor, "If you'd stop hitting the same button over and over, I'd beat you in half the time."

 

"You haven't beat me even once!" Lance shouts, legs crossed on the floor in front of him.

 

His back brushes Keith's knees every few seconds and Keith does his best to ignore it.

 

"It's called _combat_ for a reason," Lance continues, "you gotta fight dirty to win."

 

"Fine, I'll just use your tactic then." Keith growls, smashing the circle on his controller over and over.

 

Lance sputters and watches as he finally, for the first time, loses a fight. His character displays a dramatic turn before blood splays on the camera, the huge letters symbolizing a knock-out flashing in bright yellow.

 

"Bullshit." He pushes his controller to Pidge and crosses his arms, finally resting all of his weight onto Keith's legs.

 

"Congrats," Pidge chuckles, "you gave Keith that idea all on your own."

 

"Didn't mean he had to do it."

 

"Oh, come on. You said we had to play _dirty_." Keith reaches out and ruffles Lance's hair before he can stop himself.

 

The action makes him freeze and it takes much too long to pull his hand back. For a moment, he expects Lance to freak out. To look at him with anything ranging from frustration to shock to anger. 

 

But he just leans his head back on Keith's knees and closes his eyes, mouth turned down in a small pout.

 

"Whatever." He mumbles.

 

"God, who know you were such a baby." Pidge restarts the match but decides to go solo, happy to fight against the game itself.

 

Keith drops his controller onto the cushion beside him and flexes his fingers, trying and failing to look anywhere but Lance's long throat. His skin is brown and freckled, a dark mole resting just above his collar bone. Adam's apple bobbing, it's almost _too_ pretty. 

 

Suddenly, Lance's eyes open. Keith rips his own attention away, eyeing his soda as if it could somehow save him.

 

"Birth marks?" Lance asks, finally leaning away so that he can turn around and face the couch, "Those dark patches in a straight line on your neck are birth marks, right?"

 

"He's always had those." Pidge says, eyes trained on her character; a man with bulging muscles and a sphere for a head.

 

"Yeah." Keith brings a hand to rub at the side of his neck, "It's just skin discoloration."

 

When he was younger, he was relentlessly teased about them. Some kids did it in good humor, finding the marks weird but slightly cool. Others mocked him for it, saying he had some kind of disease.

 

In the end it was the former that seemed to stick with him.

 

"Well, they're kinda pretty." Lance says, "A few shades darker. And they look _smooth_ , which is interesting. Like skin but even softer."

 

Pidge glances back at Keith and nods, "They are cool, actually."

 

" _Oookay,_ " Keith flushes and stands, quickly moving around the room to pick up their empty paper plates and soda cans, "enough staring at my skin."

 

"I was just pointing it out!" Lance calls to him, voice playful and not at all confrontational.

 

Not full of heated bickering or competitive nuances.

 

Keith doesn't know what to think, if he were being honest. One moment he's so awkward around Lance he thinks he'll combust and the next he's goofing off as if they've always been close enough to do so. It's confusing and new and Keith doesn't like either of those things. He likes to be sure, to know what he's feeling and how he can keep it smushed down, kept secret. He doesn't really understand why Lance was so desperate to accompany him tonight but he decides that regardless of his own messy feelings, this show of friendship is actually really nice.

 

It's something he's yearned for since they first met, even if the entire encounter was rather...eventful.

 

_***~*~*~*** _

 

**_Three Years Ago_ **

  
_"Just go say hi."_

 

_Keith scoffs at Shiro and keeps his arms folded, staring at the group of freshmen hovering around the huge fountain in the center of campus. They're loud and full of excitement, wearing the college's colors in a show of pride._

 

_Keith, on the other hand, knows he looks put out. His anxiety is deeply hidden but he's had it under control for years, kept away from the public eye and settled in the pit of his belly._

 

_Or so he thought._

 

_"C'mon," Shiro bumps into him, "I'll be gone for years while I take this job in Cairo. I need to see you talk to at least one person. Help ease my mind a little."_

 

_Keith grunts and looks around, noticing the hustle and bustle of the campus. He'd only had time to put his suitcase and two boxes into his room before Shiro had dragged him out; ready to show him all the fun he'll be having, happily leading him around the same cobblestone pathways he took during his time at the Garrison._

 

_In Keith's opinion, it's a bore._

 

_He wants to study, get his degree and get the hell outta here._

 

_But when he looks at Shiro, his brother's face is so bright he can't help but drop his arms. He tries to let the tension drain until he's pushing at Shiro's shoulder, offering a minuscule smile._

 

_"Fine." Keith sighs, "But only if you buy dinner before you go."_

 

 _"Sure." Shiro grins, "Now go. Meet some people and find me at the coffee shop around the corner when you've made at least_ one _friend."_

 

_And then he's gone._

 

_Keith's smile falls almost immediately but he begrudgingly stalks forward, pushing a few strands of his thick hair behind an ear. The people are louder the closer he gets and he doesn't like it; not one bit. They're all freshmen, that much is obvious. Their eyes are bright and voices bouncing, pointing at the towering buildings randomly: the science tower, library, humanities-_

 

_"Yo." Someone nudges Keith's shoulder and he turns, instantly tensing._

 

_The person is small and appears just as miserable as Keith._

 

_"Uh." Keith raises a brow, "Hey."_

 

_"Name's Pidge." The girl holds out a rough hand, "You?"_

 

_"Keith."_

 

_"What's your major?"_

 

_Keith shifts and shrugs, "Physics. With a focus on Aerospace."_

 

 _Her attention becomes pointed, as if she suddenly found him more interesting, "Sweet. I'm going for Tech coding. Computers, software,_ hacking _." She wiggles her brows._

 

_And suddenly, Keith is smiling._

 

_He opens his mouth to ask her where her dorm is when it happens. There's a shout and the streak of people running toward the fountain, their skin painted blue and maroon, chants of the school's popular cheer echoing. Keith tries to get out of the way but he only backs toward the large wall surrounding the fountain and he's quick to climb, hoping they'll just pass it by._

 

_No luck._

 

 _Keith never saw the boy standing behind him. And he doesn't realize they've both fallen until they're_ both _sputtering, mouthfuls of penny water spewing. Keith huffs and stands first, eyes livid and pointed right at the boy._

 

_He knows he's being ridiculous. It wasn't either of their faults but the rowdy guys have already splashed past them and there's no one else he can look to._

 

_The boy stands and looks shocked, brown hair pressed flat on his head. Blue eyes find Keith's and almost immediately, they're angry as sparking live-wire._

 

_"Seriously, dude?!" He shouts, stalking forward to push at Keith's shoulders, "How do you not realize someone is literally right behind you!"_

 

_Keith pushes back and relishes in the way he stumbles, "Who can't manage get out of the fuckin' way!?"_

 

_For a moment, Keith thought they'd fight. It's his first official day on campus and he's already about to get expelled, just like so many schools before this._

 

_But then Pidge is there, tugging at Keith's arm with a vise grip, "C'mon. Just leave it alone."_

 

_"Yeah!" The boy shouts, "Run away!"_

 

_Keith doesn't bother looking back._

 

_Later, when Shiro had driven away and the panic had settled in Keith's chest, he walked up to his dorm room with dry clothes and a sulky mind. He wouldn't see his brother for years. Sure, they hadn't become brothers until Keith was twelve. But that's six years of getting to know the older boy, of coming to understand that he wouldn't just leave like everyone else; that he wouldn't beg his parents to give Keith back to the foster system._

 

_Keith had grown to love him._

 

_And now he's gone._

 

_With a sigh, Keith pushes his card into his door and keys in the code, eager to grab some clothes and get to the communal showers. He wants heat on his body, steam and comfort and then blissful sleep._

 

_When he opens the door, the light is already on and music is playing from a speaker on a desk. It's something in another language, catchy and full of rhythm. He spots a guy sitting on the opposite bed with a guitar, his face partially covered by shaggy brown hair._

 

Familiar _, shaggy brown hair-_

 

_"What the fuck?"_

 

_Keith slams the door and crosses his arms, glaring at the guitar as if it were the object of his disdain._

 

 _The guy turns around and his expression falls, "Oh, fuck._ Great _."_

 

_They stare at each other longer than necessary. Neither of them really know what to do but they won't admit it, even when Keith cautiously walks to his own bed. His clothes are still packed and the sheets on the bed are rough but he won't worry about changing them until later. He quickly goes about grabbing a pair of shorts and simple black shirt, wanting nothing more than to escape the confines of their small room._

 

_After a long, awkward silence, the boy finally speaks up behind him._

 

_"Look," Keith can hear him setting the guitar down on the bed, "unlike you, I'm not here to fight-"_

 

_"Me either."_

 

 _The guy lets out a huff of breath,_ "So _, lets just put the fountain shit behind us. You ignore me, I ignore you. We never see each other again at the end of the year."_

 

_"Fine."_

 

_"Fine."_

 

_And for a while, it worked. They'd go to bed and wake up at different hours, attend classes and study with other people._

 

_But time has a way of easing tensions. Slowly, at a snail pace, they found themselves not caring if the other was in the room while they studied. They would come to agreements on take-out dinners and ask each other for spare pens and pencils._

 

_They grew used to each other._

 

_Even though their relationship never grew to actual friendship, they found that it was easier to live together than it was to search for new roommates each year. So, by their third year, they were both offered better housing and more than eager to escape the dorms._

 

_"Hunk is staying in the new apartments across campus." Lance had said from his bed one night, "Wanna house with me next year?"_

 

_And that was that._

 

***~*~*~***

 

_**Present Day** _

 

The sound of Pidge's fight coming to an end has Keith letting out another deep breath, the kitchen seeming to quickly become a place for reflection. And, he admits, escape.

 

Lance says something that sends Pidge into a fit of laughter.

 

The sound makes Keith smile and he quickly throws the plates and cans away, moving to pluck a few more from the container in the fridge.

 

"So, yeah. Hunk is now deathly afraid of seagulls." Lance is saying when Keith returns, face full of color and humor, "We can go to the beach soon and you'll see. He'd throw you in the air to distract them so he can run away."

 

"Seagulls?" Keith scoffs and places the sodas on the table, "Really?"

 

"Yup." Lance watches Keith and waits for him to sit before scooting himself back, quick to find his place against his legs once again.

 

Keith leans back into the couch, "I'll have to see that."

 

"Deal." Lance reaches for the controller and starts a new game, already choosing the same character he's used for hours, "Wanna go again?"

 

And Keith does.

 

**POV: Lance**

 

Lance wakes to a room that isn't his.

 

It's not like he's hungover, unless you count eating too many pieces of pizza and swallowing down week's worth of soda. He didn't down too many shots like so many times before during freshman year. 

 

But it's not the room that shocks him.

 

It's the face staring at him, a thick brow raised against a shock of white hair.

 

"Uh..." Lance quickly turns and sits up, blinking away the sleep in his eyes.

 

The couch left his back aching and he notices Keith sitting up beside him, hair a mess, cheek wrinkled from the jacket they'd used to support their heads.

 

"Never thought that couch would be big enough for two." The stranger comments, looking around the wrecked living room.

 

"Who're you?" Lance glances at Keith and tries not to blush at the proximity of Keith's face next to his own, "Uh, Keith, is this guy breaking in or something?"

 

"Nah." Keith scoots down to the other end of the couch and lets his legs stretch against the floor, "Just my brother."

 

"Brother." Lance nods, "Oh."

 

"Sorry if I scared you. I'm Shiro." The guy holds out his hand and Lance grasps it, not noticing the cold metal until he's pulling away.

 

"Lance." He glances at the hand but knows it's rude to stare. So, he reaches for Pidge's phone still laying on the table and checks the time instead, surprised to see that it's still early in the morning.

 

 _7AM_ , to be exact.

 

"Anyway," Shiro smirks, "good to see you too, Keith."

 

"I talked to you last night." Keith rolls his eyes but stands anyway, "Figured your flight would land pretty early."

 

"Matt drove like a bat out of hell." Shiro laughs and ignores the shout that comes from somewhere in the house, "Wanna go get some breakfast? Catch up?"

 

Keith nods but glances at Lance right after, face falling.

 

"Oh," Lance takes the hint, "I'll get Hunk to pick me up. No worries. I have class later so I'll just head home."

 

"Are you sure?" Keith grimaces, "Shiro can just drop you off at his place on our way-"

 

"Don't worry about it." Lance stretches and squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his shirt ride up just a bit on his stomach, "Go get some breakfast. Bring me back a coffee, if you want. Which you should. Since, you know," He grins and opens his eyes, "I kicked your ass like, fifty times last night."

 

Shiro looks between them and starts to say something but Keith quickly shuts him up, using his hand to grab at his metallic arm. He leads them away and shoves on his boots, not bothering to confirm if he'd bring the coffee back or not.

 

"Nice to meet you, Lance!" Shiro calls back, "You should-"

 

The door slams shut before he can say anything else. Lance lets out a breathy laugh and stands, searching the messy room for his phone. He spots it and frowns when he notices that the battery is dead. For a minute he debates searching the house for a charger, but doesn't want to bother Pidge if she's still sleeping.

 

But then it comes back to him. The _entire_ point of accompanying Keith here, the demonic ghosts plaguing the town and-

 

_Shit._

 

Lance looks around, listening for the elusive Matt or Pidge, before heading toward the foyer. He shoves on his shoes and makes sure his phone is shoved deep within his pocket before going ghost, feeling the change from flesh and blood to plasma like a wash of mist and water.

 

With a grunt, he takes to the air and flies through the ceiling, hoping their car hasn't gone too far yet. Looking at the driveway, he notices that Keith's car is still here and just behind it is another. Sleek and black, looking as if it were brand new, it sits with a low hum of the engine. Shiro is standing outside of it, talking on the phone in a hushed voice, so quiet that even Lance's enhanced hearing can't really place the conversation. He flies just a bit closer before letting himself hover, noticing Keith sitting in the passenger's seat before looking back to Shiro.

 

But Shiro isn't talking on the phone anymore.

 

He's not getting into the car, either.

 

He's _staring._

 

And all of his attention is right on Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient and as always, I really appreciate those of you who comment and leave kudos. They make me want to write and get chapters out to you as quickly as possible. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up soon, see ya!


	5. Chapter 5

 

  
Lance is pretty sure he can't really die of shock if he's already dead. At least, he hasn't yet so that should be a sign that it's impossible right?

He almost considered flying away. If he could just pretend this never happened it'd make this entire encounter disappear; that's what his mind is trying to tell him. But just as quickly as Shiro's eyes land on him, they flit away again, leaving Lance stunned. The older man acts the same as before, mouth moving in a goodbye before he hangs up the phone and rejoins Keith in the car. Normal, down to the soft music that spills into the air before the driver's side door is firmly shut.

Lance shakes himself from his shock and centers his bearings, knowing that it must have been a fluke. A shift in the air that made Shiro's hair stand on end, eyes finding a fixed point like children do when they stare into the dark. It wouldn't be the first time someone had sensed him, even Keith himself had showed signs and Lance supposes they won't be the last.

But it still leaves him on edge.

It makes him wary of every person walking below, of every car pulling up beside Shiro's and those who look at the morning clouds for signs of rain. He flies above the car, deep in thought, eyes glowing as he absentmindedly scans the entire area for signs of neon goo and evil entities. The morning is already becoming busy and Lance lets himself shift through open doors and hanging signs, watching as an outdoor shop full of autumn flowers sways with his invisible passing.

He likes to think that Keith would be safe with his own brother. That the man is strong and intuitive enough to know when something's wrong and regardless of how paranormal it is, smart enough to know how to fix it. But even Lance has been caught off guard by the newest haunts, their fangs and claws and bloodthirstiness reaching a level he'd yet to encounter until now.

So, with a sigh of acceptance, he continues on. They stop outside of a coffee shop and Lance hastily breathes in the smell of ground beans and baked goods, wishing he could have at least snacked on something before taking off. Following closely behind Keith, Lance zooms to the front counter and sits, careful to keep himself just out of any customer's reach. An older lady with ridiculously huge pink glasses grabs her bag full of cookies before shuffling back through the door.

Lance leans back on his hands, the length of his arms disappearing into the computer behind him, and waits for the surprisingly long line to dwindle. Keith eventually steps up next and Lance takes in his ruffled hair, both from the wind and sleep. A flush spreads on Lance's cheeks at the thought of them curled around each other but he refuses to give into it.

 _You're working, dude._ He tells himself.  _Focus._

"One Espresso, please."

Lance wrinkles his nose, knowing he'd personally prefer something cold and sweet. Keith steps aside and Lance tries to ignore how close he is, how he's practically right against his knees before mumbling that he'll go grab a seat. Shiro takes a while to decide but eventually he opts for something more along Lance's tastes, adding several baked biscuits into the mix. He goes to pay and pulls out a card, reaching just an inch away from Lance's shoulder to hand it to the barista.

The action seems considered; almost careful. And just like that, Lance is once again giving way to his nerves. He sits straighter before rising from the counter completely, watching the shift of Shiro's eyes with sharp intent.

If they flicker, if they so much as twitch in his direction-

Shiro takes his card back and smiles, nodding at the barista before grabbing the order. Lance decides to sit a few tables away from the pair on a vacant table top, cross legged and just a smidgen more relaxed. Although he knows this is necessary, he can't help but feel as if he's _stalking_ Keith. If the guy were to see him now, there's no doubt that's what he would assume.

Yet, Keith can't see him.

He's too busy smirking at something Shiro says, their voices converging with the rest of the people enjoying their early breakfasts. Thunder rumbles in the distance and although Lance is full ghost he finds the atmosphere kinda relaxing. Very cozy and simple and normal.

He wishes it would last.

 

***~*~*~***

 

"You want me to what?"

Lance winces and takes another sip of his tea, "Just follow him a bit."

"Stalk him."

" _Follow_ him." Lance rolls his eyes, "Just while i'm in class or-"

"Beating down scary demon ghosts in the middle of the forest at ungodly hours of the night."

"Uh. Sure. That."

Hunk groans and leans his head back, staring at the slightly yellowed ceiling tiles of the cafeteria. Luckily, Lance can simply sit here while Keith works and it won't seem abnormal at all. How many times has he done this? And how many times has Keith prodded him awake, mouth turned down in a cute little frown?

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't serious." Lance grimaces, "They're putting a target on him and I can't just..I, you know.."

"You don't want him to get hurt." Hunk nods, "I get it, dude. It's okay."

"Yeah?"

Hunk smiles, "Yeah."

They fall into an easy silence and Lance lets his head drop onto his folded arms, hair tickling along his brows and cheek. The cafeteria is busy but it's easy enough to see Keith, his scowl practically burning a hole into every table he harshly wipes. Lance reaches blindly for another fry and listens to Hunk's tale of the rabid machine in one of his many engineering labs, laughing at his portrayal of their monotone professor trying to scream.

Watching his best friend settles Lance's nerves and he thinks, for the first time, that maybe someone else knowing about his ability isn't such a bad thing.

 

 

***~*~*~***

 

"Whatcha' up to?"

"Lance?" Keith asks on the other line, voice hitching a notch.

Lance smirks and hovers above their house, eyes sweeping the otherwise quiet street. "The one and only!"

"Uh, hi?"

"Hey."

There's a beat of silence before Keith breaks it by clearing his throat, "I'm just studying. You?"

"Chillin'." Lance yawns, "Is this weird? Me calling you?"

"A bit."

Lance chuckles, "Yeah, figured you'd think so. But I mean, we're friends right? Friends call other friends when they're bored."

Something rustles like paper moving against paper, "Right. Yeah. When did you decide this, exactly?"

"What, us being friends?"

Keith hums.

"Well, I figured we sorta always were. At least I...you know, I always wanted us to be." Lance isn't sure if he can blush while he's a ghost but he'll be damned if his face isn't suddenly twenty times hotter. "If you don't want to, I get it. I was a bit of a dick when we met."

"No, that's not-" A chair scrapes as if Keith got to his feet. "I'm just kinda confused. Three days ago we didn't do things like eat pizza and play video games but I mean, it's been nice so..I do. Want to be your friend, I mean."

Lance lets out a soft laugh, "Cool."

"Yeah." There's a smile in Keith's voice, "Cool."

 

***~*~*~***

 

For the first time in a long time, Lance gets enough sleep to leave him feeling a bit refreshed when the inevitable happens. Slipping through his bed, he blinks awake seconds before he transcends through the roof, the cold night air landing brisk on his skin.

With a curse, he speeds back to his room to call Hunk.

"Why do you sound like that?" He asks when Lance rushes out an explanation, "All garbled, like some kinda-" He pauses, "Oh. Ghost. Yeah, almost forgot for a minute there."

"Can you just come chill at my place?"

"It's three a.m."

"And i'm floating above my floor dressed like a knock off super hero." Lance begs, "Please. If I don't follow this itch-"

"Yeah, yeah." Hunk sighs, "Go on, i'm already on my way."

"Thanks, buddy. I owe you!" Lance says before ending the call.

Lance debates waiting around until Hunk's car pulls into the driveway, maybe even risking a quick peek into Keith's bedroom for any sign that something's out of place. But he knows there's no time for that.

He won't let anyone else die.

With a lingering glance at Keith's window, Lance pushes every other inhibition far away. There is only the new trail and his growing determination, eyes starting to glow the closer he gets to whatever woke him up in the first place. The streets are empty as he travels above them, a sick feeling growing in his stomach when the targeted building finally comes into view. 

Though when he lands in a bedroom, he's more than ready to fight.

"Oh no you don't." He growls, twisting his body so that his boots slam into the entities large head, adrenaline spiking when the kick sends the creature flying.

The apartment is on the small side but when you're following a paranormal monster through the levels it tends to feel like a mansion. Lance spares a quick look at the child in the bed, glad to see that she's fast asleep before letting himself disappear through the adjacent wall. Picture frames rattle where the entity lands two floors down and Lance is on him in a heartbeat, fingers already pulsing with electricity.

"You really thought you'd get away with that?" He asks, staring into the eyes of a deep, endless void. "I've been doing this for years-"

Something sends a violent zap into his Lance's chest and he spins through the air, a short yelp leaving his lips. The second he's down the entity slams a foot into his throat. Lance flails, fingers grappling at the strange texture of its skin. Almost like fur, it bunches beneath his fingernails and falls to the carpeted floor like a dog shedding in the summer.

"This is fun." The thing hisses, voice contorting and cracking.

"Yeah?" Lance chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut with the effort it takes to dissipate. He momentarily falls through the floor before returning behind the entity, hand happily grabbing the rarest weapon on his belt. "How fun will it be when your gooey brains are splattered on the wall?"

Locked and loaded, the gun feels heavy in his hand. He presses the barrel against the back of the creatures head, watching the way it tenses.

"You cannot-"

"Shut the fuck up." Lance growls, voice taking on the range of the interdimensional. Even to his own ears it doesn't sound right. It doesn't sound _human_. "You're gonna answer my questions now."

When the creature doesn't reply, Lance continues, "Who sent you?"

"We are legion-"

Lance tsks, "Yeah, I've heard that one before." He presses the barrel harder, "Why are you here?"

"This town is the portal." The creature begins to laugh, "You are in the trap."

"Trap." Lance repeats, his entire body suddenly going very, very still. "What trap?"

The laughter rises again, only this time there is more than one. It surrounds him, overwhelms him, threatens to pull him under like a riptide to the toiling sea. It's never a fun time, realizing you've made a huge mistake. And there's rarely ever a chance given to you to make up for it.

But Lance is going to try.

With a curse, he pulls the trigger.

Barely fazed by the goop that lands on his face, he scans the apartment and checks on the child one last time. She's tossing and turning, voice mumbled in the throes of sleep. Lance feels a tinge of guilt for the nightmare she's no doubt having but the most he can do is switch on her bedroom light, knowing it'll at least wake her up sooner.

Knowing there's nothing else he can do, he leaves like his heels are on fire.

By the time he reaches his house Hunk's car is waiting in the driveway. Old and yellow, it's usually familiar and comforting. But as of right now, it's just another sign that Lance has to hurry. He enters the house and wastes no time finding the strongest concentration of energy, feeling it warm his skin while at the same time pushing him into full blown panic. In the living room, Hunk is sound asleep. But Lance can't even try to wake him now. He simply flies past his best friend and bursts into Keith's room like a whirlwind. 

Standing over the boy is a mass of shadows. The entity has its mouth agape, teeth dripping with spittle and what looks like flesh, though who's it is, Lance doesn't know. It leans down, moving slow and precise, promising a lethal death.

Lance feels a burst of fire in the pit of his stomach. It makes him scream as he shoots forward, hands slamming into the creature's shoulders while his foot collides with its abdomen. It barely moves an inch but Lance doesn't stop his assault, not until the thing is held firmly against the wall. The sound of the impact is loud enough that Lance hears Hunk wake with a shout, his energy spiking along with the quick beating of his heart.

"You won't hurt him." Lance hisses, feeling feral and so unlike himself it almost scares him. "If you've touched even a single hair on his head, I'll rip you to pieces."

The entity is grinning, eyes wider than plates, the iris's spinning in shades of muddy gold. "You are going to rip me apart anyway, aren't you, Phantom? You lie and lie and lie!"

Lance reaches for his gun but when his hand finds his belt, the weapon is not there.

"Oh, it seems you've forgotten something." The entity mocks, voice undulating from something akin to a song before giving way to growls. The words grow faster and faster, the sound unholy and frightening against Lance's ears. _"Traps and maps all lead to him. In the end, you will lose and we will win."_ The creature laughs, breath rancid in Lance's face, his neck and head tilting to extreme angles. _"We are legion, an army against you. And very soon, he will be too!"_

Lance's eyes go wide, his strength faltering for a single millisecond. "What-"

In a puff of smoke, the entity vanishes.

And just as fast, Lance feels himself return to the physical world. He lands on the floor with a huff, hands only barely holding him up. His arms shake, the length of them stained an inky black. It takes him much too long to stand and even longer to stabilize himself, his eyes darting to Keith with a pinching twist in his stomach. Through it all, the boy has slept. Lance risks shortening the distance between them, his steps slow and dragging against the exhaustion tearing through his body. But he'll be damned if he passes out now. He leans a small bit of weight on Keith's bed and lets his eyes trail along his body, searching for blood or gashes or bites, gaze lingering on the way his chest rises and falls.

 _"Fuck."_ Lance whispers, eyes roaming the plains of his face.

Keith's skin is flushed, his eyelids jumping with his dreams, lashes sitting thick and pretty on his cheeks. Lance knows that now isn't the time for such observations. But considering he almost let the boy get _devoured_ for the second time within two weeks, he tells himself that it's okay to burn his image to memory. In a way, he hates himself for not staring at the boy more. He's had years and what has he done with them? Deny his emotions, push the boy away; pretend his pulse doesn't jump and his stomach doesn't flutter the moment he walks into a damn room.

Taking a final look, Lance decides that he'll sleep outside of Keith's door tonight. Maybe he'll drag his old sleeping bag out of the closet and camp out; try to leave the second sunlight breaks through the treetops outside so that he isn't caught. But before he can turn away, his eyes are catching on something new. Something forming, like a tattoo without the ink.

Beneath the saggy collar of Keith's grey shirt, right in the middle of his chest and climbing up along his throat, is a dark, festering symbol. It's there for a moment, as dark as midnight and thick as a corded rope, and then it is dissolving into his flesh. It soaks and stains and fades, until Lance is left wondering if he'd hallucinated the whole thing.

 _"You."_ A new voice growls, "What are you doing in here?"

Lance whips around with alarm blooming on his face, skin going ashen from both the mark and the man now standing in the darkened doorway.

Shiro is huffing as if he'd run a long distance, his metallic arm lit in neon colors like something out of a scifi movie. His eyes jump between Keith and the mess on his floor, attention eventually lingering on the red staining Lance's brown skin.

When he meets Lance's eye again, Shiro looks like a storm.

He looks ready to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I disappeared for so long!!! Hope this chapter makes up for it a little bit. Season 8 is gonna kick my ass but I'm ready for it and for continuing this story!
> 
> In the next chapter: a Keith POV, misunderstandings and revelations!


End file.
